


alls well that ends well to end up with you

by canonkillsmyships



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff, M/M, Soft Spot Conlon, literally just spot loving race, thats it, thats the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:53:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24966271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canonkillsmyships/pseuds/canonkillsmyships
Summary: Spot Conlon appreciates the most important thing in his life as the strike ends."And there, pressed right up to gate, was the boy that Spot was really in all of this for. He was hanging off the bars, cigar held between his lips as he hoisted a sign proclaiming ‘STRIKE’ high above his head...Race’s smile didn’t leave Spot’s thought for the rest of the day, not until the boy climbed in though his bedroom window and curled up next to him on his bunk, safely shut away from the world in the Brooklyn boy’s bedroom."
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	alls well that ends well to end up with you

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by that scene in the musical where jack, davey and spot wave at the newsies, i couldnt stop thinking about it for like 3 days before i wrote this (i wrote this in like half an hour its not great).

Spot stood silently by the door, arms crossed as he watched Jack boast and taunt Pulitzer, sprawled across one of the lush armchairs in front of the desk. He had brought his boys along to support the cause, now it was Jack’s turn to prove he wouldn’t run. Again.

The fury on Pulitzer’s face when he realised they had used his own press against him was priceless, and the shock on his face as the Mouth stood up to him, pointing out the failings of his decision, was even better.

Cheers, screams and chants cut off Pulitzer’s response to Jack’s speech about his little reporter friend, the pretty redhead who had written the article about them, and he followed Jack, Pulitzer, and Davey over to the windows. He stared out over Newsies Square, thousands of kids stamping and waving signs in outrage and defiance.  
Glancing at the boys next to him, Spot saw the proud grins spread across Jack and Davey’s faces, and felt his own lips twitch upwards at the defeat clear on Pulitzer’s face. His assistants looked on in awe at the huge crowd that had been amassed by only a few angry newsboys who refused to lay down and accept the abuse of power.  
Spot pulled his hat from his hand and pressed it to his chest.

“Have a look out there, Mr. Pulitzer. In case you ain’t figured it out, we got you surrounded.” A small smile settled on his face for a moment as he surveyed the newsies gathered below them, searching for a familiar face.

And there, pressed right up to gate, was the boy that Spot was really in all of this for. He was hanging off the bars, cigar held between his lips as he hoisted a sign proclaiming ‘STRIKE’ high above his head. Spot saw him look up and knew the instant Race had spotted him by the cheeky smile that grew on his face. He couldn’t help his own smile as he waved down at the blond newsie who had taken his heart, and realised Jack and Davey were doing the same when the horde of protesters cheered and waved furiously back.

He stayed, looking down, even as Jack turned to Pulitzer and declared that New York was closed for business. His eyes were locked onto Race as the boy took the cigar from his mouth and began to chant ‘Newsies!’, soon joined by the rest of the crowd. His attention was dragged away by the sudden entrance of the Mayor, followed by the reporter, the nice woman from the theatre and – he almost didn’t believe it – Theodore Roosevelt himself. He stepped back from the window, staring impolitely at the Governor as he confronted Pulitzer. Then again, when had Spot Conlon ever been polite?  
He almost laughed when Jack got his hand crushed in the Governor’s handshake, but bit his tongue and held it in. Spot didn’t think any amount of successful strikes would make him respect Jack Kelly again, not after the way he’d turned his back on his boys – all of the newsies – for his own gain, so he let himself enjoy the moment.  
He was soon being dismissed by Pulitzer and Jack, and so he grudgingly left the office with the Walking Mouth at his side. They descended the stairs together and left the building, rushing over to the gate where they were met with a tsunami of noise when the boys noticed them. Spot happily shook hands with every single person that reached through to him, but his attention was always focused on Racetrack, still perched halfway up the gate with his cigar and smile, although his sign had since been passed off to someone else.

The crowd went silent, gazing up anxiously as Jack appeared on the balcony, flanked by Pulitzer and Roosevelt. Spot stared up at him, pressed against the gate with his hands clutching desperately at the bars behind him. 

“Newsies of New York City!” The tension in the crowd grew in the moment of silence that followed. A cold touch to his fingers made him jump and release the bar with one hand, although before he could turn around to investigate, the touch wrapped itself around his fingers and Spot relaxed into it. A quick glance above his head had his shoulders easing even further. Right above him, Race’s face was upturned to look at his leader, although Spot knew the boy was just as aware of the comforting contact between them.

“We won!” Jack yelled, jumping up with his hands wrapped tight around the balcony railing.

A deafening roar erupted from the masses, and the gate rocked against his spine as they surged forward.

Without thinking, Spot spun around, breaking the contact with Race, and scaled the gate to come face to face with the boy. He wasn’t stupid enough to risk a kiss, not surrounded by this many people, but he reached through the bars to grip Racetrack’s face, a firm touch that promised of so much more. Spot was aware that the pure, stupid happiness on his face could ruin his reputation for good, but he hoped the crowds were too busy celebrating to notice too much.

He found himself caught in Race’s eyes, unable to break their staring competition even as the gate swayed beneath the weight of so many people clambering against it. He lost himself in the love and affection swimming in the bright blue until he was pushed so hard that he almost lost his footing.  
Regaining his stability, Spot forced himself higher, almost hanging over the top of the gate as he threw a fist in the air and cheered “Brooklyn!”  
Spot took the time to enjoy the celebration, helping Davey unlock the gate and being surrounded by his boys as they lifted him on to their shoulders.

The excitement began to die down soon after and most of the crowd had returned home or to work, so Spot was gathering his boys to get moving when he was dragged into a dark corner. It was still visible to the others, but only if they were trying to look, and he was suddenly face to face with Racetrack Higgins, a crooked smile on his lips and a joyful look in his eyes, highlighted by the hot flush on his cheeks.

Before Spot had a chance to speak, Race was rambling on about their miraculous win with a tight grip on Spot’s shoulders. Eventually he paused to take a breath and was quiet for a moment.

“I’ll, uh, I can be in Brooklyn tonight if you want?” The hopeful expression accompanying the question was enough for Spot to know he would never turn down Race, even if he wasn’t planning to in the first place.

“You is always welcome in Brooklyn, Race, you don’t gotta ask.” Spot’s heart damn-near stopped at the smile his response prompted. “I’ll see you tonight, yeah? Let ya self in.”

Race nodded, still with that breath-taking smile, and ran back to his ‘Hattan buddies, ruffling one of the little one’s hair as he joined them. Spot took a deep breath before he marched his boys out of the square, and they didn’t stop singing the entire way across the Brooklyn Bridge, not until they split up to try selling whatever papes they could in the daylight they had left.

Race’s smile didn’t leave Spot’s thoughts for the rest of the day, not until the boy climbed in though his bedroom window and curled up next to him on his bunk, safely shut away from the world in the Brooklyn boy’s bedroom.

That night, as Race lay snoring, Spot’s last thought before drifting off to sleep was that he had sure won more than just the strike that day. He wrapped himself around the boy he loved and let his eyes shut as Race shifted and pulled him closer in his sleep.

Yeah. Definitely more than just the strike.


End file.
